I Lie to Me Too
by theumbridgedversion
Summary: Tegan and Sara fanfic - I'm not yet sure where I want to go with this. I'm pretty sure it will end up being Quincest, but it will also explore other relationships of theirs. Switches between Tegan and Sara, following them on tour and off, with some adventures along the way :) WARNING: This story is purely fictional and is not based on fact at all. May have Quincest.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm serious Tegan that's like four fucking times you've screwed our songs up. It's not funny anymore. Can you _try_ to remember the lyrics for once tonight?"

She's glaring at me now and I guess I'm being pretty harsh but it's really starting to get on my nerves now; plus this tour has really started to take its toll on me. It's hard to go so long with so little quiet, peaceful time alone. At the same time, I guess everyone else is going though the same stuff, so I shouldn't get on Tegan so much over being tired and forgetting a couple words. Especially on some of those songs from earlier in our career… We really had a lot to say. And I guess she does play it off well; the fans always seem perfectly fine with it – if anything they seem to think it's funny or cute. Well shit. I've already realized I fucked up and the fight hasn't even started. I can tell from the venomous look she's throwing at me.

"Maybe if you pulled the stick our of your ass, Sara, and actually learned to _enjoy_ doing what we do you would realize that you can't control every fucking aspect of a concert. I practice _every bit_ as much as you and just because I can't remember every fucking last word that we've written in the past fifteen years doesn't mean that I need your shit too. It's not like I _mean_ to fucking mess up – and at least I can manage to smile every now and then instead of looking like the last place I want to be in the world is on stage. Fuck you Sara."

"Fuck off Tegan. I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. You _know_ I'm not as "bubbly" as you and you _know _how I worry that people don't like my personality as much as yours. So don't you _dare _tell me that just because I don't have the same personality as you that I don't want to be here every bit as much, that I don't appreciate and love our fans more than anything. I'm so done with this conversation. All I ask is that you act professional every once in a while."

Okay, so I know I said I had fucked up and I did – but she didn't have to pull the mopey-Sara card. I hate fighting with Tegan like this, but there's just this part of me that can't help but fight back. I just get so mad – way angrier than with anyone else – and almost unreasonably so. No matter what she does, I just feel this overwhelming rage. I know she feels the same way, because we both add fuel to the fire. It's like two meteors clashing – the immovable object and unstoppable force. I know that's why we both say uncalled for things that we don't mean. Doesn't stop it from hurting though. Or making me angrier.

Al cut our argument short by poking his head through the door of our dressing room and announcing that the show would start soon. I took a last deep breath trying to calm myself down and followed Tegan out the door, returning the glare she threw at me over her shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a good show, musically. No screw-ups, no issues. But it was empty. We played the list and encore, thanked the fans, and cleared the stage. I hated every minute of it. It was the first show I'd ever been really disappointed in. We aren't like this. We don't treat these shows like a job. They aren't a job. They're our life. Our passion. And what just happened on stage was certainly not passion. I brooded to myself as we cleared off the stage, making sure the instruments were safely packed away and set up to load in the van. I tried to catch Tegan's eye as she bustled around the stage picking up things thrown up by the fans, but she kept her eyes down and went about her work in an efficient, almost cold way. This was worse than most fights.

Usually we're forced to be cheerful and nice to each other during the shows, even if we'd been slinging insults (and sometimes fists) minutes before, and this façade helped us forget the bad feelings from the fight and move on. But we hadn't talked once during the show, hadn't even made eye contact. So the burning hatred we'd felt before hadn't just cooled down back to normal, it had turned to indifferent iciness – arguably worse.

The other band members had undoubtedly noticed our cold treatment of each other, but chose to stay out of the fight. They had learned long ago that the fights Tegan and I have surpass all normal, rational arguments. Our fights have an intensity none of them wish to be involved in, so they learned to just wait for things to blow over between us.

When cleanup was finished, our gear all neatly stacked by the back door for loading and the gear belonging to the set moved to its designated place, the band headed backstage for quiet time. I plopped onto the couch next to Ted and groaned as my legs and back ached from standing for so long. I stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the stories the decrepit room told. What looked like a water stain loomed in the far corner, undoubtedly from a leak or spill in the rooms above. Occasional holes dotted the ceiling, the result of many bored bands spending their time trying to stick pencils or other sharp objects in the ceiling. My eyes fall on a mysterious greenish brown stain that looks as if it's been splashed up onto the ceiling from below. I scrunch my nose up at the thought of whatever could have made a stain like that and close my eyes. I'm not sure I want to know the story of this room anymore. I try to worry about the situation with Tegan but I can't seem to focus on it or understand why I got so mad in the first place. _God I'm tired_. It's been a long tour…

I hadn't realized that I'd fallen asleep until I felt a nudge on my foot, then a hand on my shoulder jolting me awake. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked up. Tegan. Shit. She didn't look like she was about to attack, though, so I mustered up what humility I could and apologized.

"I'm sorry Tegan. Fuck. I really fucked up. I should have kept my mouth shut. I've just been stressed and exhausted with this tour and I don't know. I never meant to say you were unprofessional or imply that you're anything less than the best musician I know. I was so wrong. I'm sorry." I looked down at my feet, embarrassed and scared. I don't want to keep doing this. I hate fighting with Tegan and even though what she said hurt me, it was out of defense against the things I said. I glanced cautiously up at her face and let out a sigh of relief when I found no anger there.

"I'm sorry too. I was uncalled for commenting on your personality. I don't think you're mopey or depressing or bad to our fans at _all_. I really fucked up saying that."

I got up off the couch and hugged her, glad to be able to be close again. It hurts to fight Tegan. I get so angry with her, sometimes for no reason, and I feel like I can't stand to exist in the same space with her. But then we fight and lash out at each other and I hate every second of it but I can't help but fight back. Even when we agree it feels like it's not _my_ decision or _my _choice. I guess it's just my need to feel like I'm independent and self-sufficient that makes me fight her every step of the way. Any success she has must be a failure for me and vice versa. But it doesn't last too long before I start to feel alone. We don't even really talk too much when we're not on tour, maybe a few texts or phone calls a week, mostly about business or a photo shoot or interview, but even those stop when we're fighting. It turns into curt e-mails or communications, or the occasional text containing only the information absolutely necessary. Our fights on tour are almost easier to take. They get worse than those off tour, and sometimes violent, but at least we're together so much that we have to solve it at some point. And it's easier knowing Tegan's at least near, even if we're not on the best terms.

I don't know if it's the fact that we're twins, or that we've spent nearly all of our lives together that makes it so hard to feel like she's gone. For my entire life my past, present and future have involved Tegan. Almost all of my memories include her, and for most of the year she's by my side, and because of our similar aspirations, our dreams and plans for the future have always been intertwined. So when I feel as though she's slipping away, like maybe _this_ fight might be it, I start to feel this ache. Kind of like the ache or itch amputees might feel after they lose a limb. Sure, the limb's gone, but the _memory_ isn't. And it's still so fresh that they can physically feel it. And each phantom itch or ache brings their hand to the spot to soothe it, only to realize that space is empty, and it's just another reminder that makes it that much harder to get over the loss. Each memory renews that itch, reminds me that Tegan's no longer there. An amputee patient will eventually stop feeling their phantom limb. The aches lessen and the itches come fewer and further between. But that's because the body eventually realizes there's no neural activity coming from the limb. Every memory I have contains traces of Tegan – so every time I remember _anything_, Tegan's there. So the prospects I face with losing Tegan are almost unbearably daunting. A life filled with loss and pain and no way of distracting myself from her absence, no way to get over it.

That's why, after only a few hours of fighting, I cling on to Tegan for dear life, feeling her warmth against my face and body, waiting for my heart to be reassured that she's not gone. I feel her breath against my neck, steady and constant, and her hands rubbing small circles on my back. I don't know how she's so calm and collected, but I hold her tightly until the blanket of anxiety that's been hanging over me slowly dissipates and the pressure on my lungs lifts and I can take a deep breath.

I let go and back up, looking down, a little embarrassed to look her in the eye yet. I always feel like such an idiot after our fights, even if I was in the right. Searching for something to say, I realized that we hadn't even addressed whatever she'd woken me up to tell me.

"Are we leaving?" I pick my things up from around the room, making sure my phone's in my pocket and I'm not forgetting anything.

"Yeah, we've got our last two shows tomorrow in Chicago and it's about a seven hour drive there from Minneapolis. We were thinking that instead of driving up tomorrow we'd just head up there tonight in the bus and then have the day tomorrow to hang out and walk around. Does that sound okay to you? I know it means another night on the bus but we can sleep in and I figured it'd be nice to have the day to relax."

"Sounds good. What about food? I'm starved." My stomach rumbled soon after, reaffirming my statement and I groaned, holding my aching stomach.

"We can either get something to take on the bus or go out. The boys were leaning towards going out but it's up to you." She looks almost worried, like I might still be angry or something or like I might start another fight at the slightest touch.

"Of course we're going out! I'm hungry and I want a nice drink and a relaxing dinner before we get back on the road." I flash her a smile to reassure her that I'm just as eager as she is to get over the fight before and she smiles, relieved, in response. We head out and find Ted and the rest watching Shaun try to climb up a tree, shouting and whooping as he at last makes it to a branch and shifts himself onto it with an audible grunt. Tegan and I laugh at the ways these guys entertain themselves, and walk up to join in the group discussion of how he'll get down.


	3. Chapter 3

"C'mon Shaun you can trust me! Just jump down into my arms!" Ted shouts up, rocking his arms back and forth like he's cradling a baby.

"Fuck off Ted! You were the one who told me to come up here!"

Much discussion ensues and after several ideas are shot down by Shaun, including him "sucking it up" and just jumping down, leaving him there, and creating a leaf pile for him to jump into, we come to a decision, although Shaun still has misgivings. After having Shaun swing down to hang from his arms, Tegan leans down and Ted curls up on the ground for me to step up to sit on Tegan's shoulders. I pause, surprised that Tegan agrees so readily to have me sit on her shoulders, but I do it anyways. Tegan stands up fully and I'm able to reach around Shaun's ankles while Ted and Johnny wait below to catch him. Shaun lets go and I try to slow his descent but he ended up falling too quickly so I was pulled forward. As Shaun plummeted to the ground towards Ted and Johnny, Tegan and I teetered forward, screaming as we tripped over Ted or Johnny or Shaun (they had all fallen to the ground tangled in a confused mass) and fell to the ground, landing on our already disgruntled band mates. After untangling ourselves from each other, we burst out laughing at the ridiculous scene we had just caused and hearing each others' accounts of what they had seen to be happening during the calamity.

"All I saw was this enormous MASS just plunging towards me and I tried to hold my hands out and stop it from killing me but got a foot in the shoulder and was LAUNCHED backwards."

"Yeah well your shoulder also LAUNCHED that enormous mass straight into my FACE. One second I see Shaun landing on top of you and the next I'm on the ground CRUSHED by the BEHEMOTH."

"Yeah well SOMEone's knee went STRAIGHT into my face so I don't want to hear you complaining Ted."

"One thing I'm holding Sara up on my shoulders and the next thing I know her legs LOCK around my neck and pull me forward to my doom. I wasn't particularly worried about where my knees were going since I was attached to Sara doing god knows what up there."

"I was trying to hold Shaun from falling too fast! But he was SO HEAVY so I got pulled forward and I think I clenched my legs as a reaction. At least you had their bodies to fall on! I went face first into the grass!"

We discuss our versions of the event for several more minutes before deciding that it was Shaun's fault for being physically fit enough to climb such a ridiculously tall tree in the first place. Finally we're all huddled together outside the bus, finalizing plans to go to a pub not far from us and deciding whether to walk or bring the bus. After deciding that the bus is too inconvenient to drive, we decide to walk and grab warmer coats before heading out.

As we pushed through the biting November air, I thought back to everything that had happened since our fight and smiled. It was kind of unusual how quickly Tegan and I had made up, when I thought about it. And not only had we resolved the fight but seconds later we were hugging and then I'm on her shoulders trying to get Shaun down. Usually it took a bit longer for us to get back to normal terms, even after we'd apologized and resolved our issues. And even then it was rare for us to be so physically close so much. We have sort of an unspoken agreement about personal space. Maybe because we'd been shoved together our whole lives, or because we've been seen as one entity so much in our lives, it feels kind of weird to be physically close to Tegan. Almost like I need to maintain my distance from her so I can maintain my own identity. The closer I get to Tegan, the more likely I'll be mistaken for her. Early in our childhood, we didn't mind being mistaken for each other, but once we grew into adolescence and that phase of intense individuality and independence, we hated it. I guess that was probably when we started avoiding being too close together. As kids we were always very close and comfortable around each other. My mom often had to make us sleep in separate rooms just so we wouldn't develop a need to be together to be able to sleep. After she went to bed, though, we'd just sneak right back into the same bed. I don't really know why we kept up the distance thing after our teenage years and early adulthood. We're still independent and individual people, but we're confident in our independence now, so being mistaken for the other doesn't really bother us. I never really felt comfortable touching Tegan after that phase – only when it was absolutely necessary and then for as short a time as possible. It wasn't out of any personal disliking of the idea, just thinking that Tegan would be annoyed with me if I hugged her when I was upset or held her hand when I knew she was upset. Now I'm starting to think that maybe I was wrong. Maybe she thought the same about me; that I wanted to continue the no-touching rule and that if she came near me I'd be annoyed with her. What with what's happened today though, even though it hasn't been very much, I'm starting to think that maybe that's the case. Neither of us _wanted_ to be so far from the other, but we were just too scared to go back to the comfort around each other that we used to have.

My mind is still pondering these thoughts as we arrive at the pub, but I'm quickly brought back to the present as I'm met with a warm rush of air as we step inside.


	4. Chapter 4

Tegan leads everyone to an empty booth and looks around for a waiter. I scoot in next to Ted and Tegan slides in after me, having hailed a waitress. She takes our orders and heads off, and we start talking about our plans for the break after this tour. I'll be so relieved to have some time to just relax at home. I've loved this tour so much, but touring always takes a lot out of me, so it'll be nice to have a few months to lay low. Oddly enough, even though I'm exhausted and looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again, I feel a bit of anxiety about going home so far away from Tegan. Usually I can't wait to get some time away from her, or at the very least I have no issue with it because I know that I'll see her soon for some photo shoot or promo. But right now, thinking about going home, my breaths start to come shorter and my stomach feels clenched. I discretely search through my jacket pockets for the bottle of Ativan I keep with me for my anxiety. I pull it out and slip a pill into my hand under the table, trying not to make much movement as I put the case back in my pocket. Apparently I wasn't subtle enough to fool Tegan, though, because she leans over and puts a hand on my arm, whispering in my ear so the others couldn't hear. I doubt they'd notice anyways; they're enjoying themselves quite loudly.

"Is everything alright? Are you feeling anxious? Do you want to go back to the bus? I'll go with you and tell the guys I'm tired if you don't want to make a big deal out of it."

I smile at Tegan's worrying, and notice her hand on me, reassuringly squeezing my forearm.

"No it's fine Tee. Don't worry about me." I slip the pill in my mouth and wash it down with some wine and wait for it to sink in and calm me down. Tegan nods but doesn't look convinced, and scoots closer as if to remind me she's there if I need her. To my surprise, it makes a big difference and I'm back to normal in no time.

Our food arrives and we eat in silence, hungry after the show. By the time we're finished with our food everyone's had at least 3 drinks, and the conversations are starting to get slurred. Tegan's headed off to the bar to get something harder. She's definitely going to be hung over tomorrow. Shaun, Johnny and Ted slip out of the booth and stand up.

"We're heading back to the bus. Do you want to come with or are you staying later?" I look around for Tegan, not finding her, and respond to Ted,

"You guys go ahead. I'll wait for Tegan and we'll head back soon probably."

"Alright make sure you're back before 1 – I think we're heading out around then and we'll leave you behind if you're not there."

"Aha. I can see it now. 'Tegan and Sara not playing tonight because they were abandoned by Ted'. Thanks." Ted giggles at his joke and follows Shaun and Johnny out of the pub. I feel a burst of cold air come in as they open the door and shiver. Looking around I still can't find Tegan so I get up and make my way through the crowd. The pub has become a lot more crowded in the time we've been here, and my efforts to politely make my way through the masses of people aren't helped by the alcohol I've consumed. I find my way up to the bar and see Tegan sitting there, cheerfully befriending her neighbors, who look surprised to see someone so small displaying such an impressive array of shot glasses in front of her. Oh boy.

"SASA!" Tegan, noticing my presence, squeals out her childhood nickname for me and jumps towards me, stumbling off her stool and into me. I barely catch her before she falls face forward onto the ground, and pull her up to her feet, laughing when I see her still grinning hugely, despite almost just wiping out.

When she's regained her footing, I lead her towards the bathroom, hoping some cold water on her face will help sober her up before we head back to the bus. I pull her into the bathroom and turn on the sink, and tell her to lower her face to the sink before cupping my hands under the faucet and splashing it at her face. She gasped when the cold water hit her face and stumbled back before standing up fully, whipping the wet hair out of her face. I turn off the faucet and look up to find her next to me again, and I have time just to feel her hands grab my neck before her lips are on mine, soft and warm, urgent, the cold water from her face and hair shocking my skin compared to the heat of her kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

Tegan POV

I wake up to the steady rocking of the bus, a steady throbbing pain gnawing at the base of my head. _Fuck_. How much did I drink last night? From the silence and the darkness in the bus, I can tell that everyone else is still asleep so I pull aside the curtain of my bunk as softly as possible and step out of bed. The bus immediately flips sideways and the floor rushes up to meet me as I fall flat on my face in the aisle. _SHIT_. I lie still on the ground and listen for the sound of anyone waking up to the sound of a still-drunk Tegan crashing to the ground and, hearing nothing, proceed to the bathroom on my hands and knees, staring at the floor to keep from getting dizzy. When I make it to the bathroom I sit with my back to the door keeping my head between my knees and my eyes shut, opening and closing them occasionally to reacquaint myself with the concept of light. When I feel my headache dull and the rushing in my head subside, I stand up and turn on the sink, alternating between drinking the cold water and splashing it on my face. Satisfactorily sober, I risk a look in the mirror and instantly regret it. Face pale, eyes bloodshot and with bags that look like bruises and, worst of all, lipstick smeared over the bottom half of my face, more presumably to be found all over my pillows. Most of it I recognize as my own, but my stomach clenches when I recognize a darker shade. _What the fuck did I do_.

Panicked, I pull down the collar of my shirt, looking for any sign of someone else on my body. I feel for my bra and underwear and let out a shaky sigh of relief when I find them both where they should be. I'm overwhelmed with a combination of guilt and confusion. I would _never_ cheat on Lindsey – no matter how drunk. But I did. I must have. Nothing else explains the foreign lipstick on my face and as I remember this I start rubbing at my face, desperate to wipe away the reminder of my actions. Guilt turns to anger as I scrub my face raw with the hand towel and start to think through what could have happened. I was with the band… how could I have snuck away to kiss someone without being seen? Why the fuck would I even kiss anyone? I've been lonely and missing Lindsey this whole tour, what would make me forget all that and kiss someone? And where was everyone else? Where was Sara?

My anger latches onto this one small way to deflect the blame and I sit cross-legged on the floor, brooding. I shouldn't be surprised she abandoned me at the bar; she's been cold and distant this entire tour, really almost all our lives. I hate it. Why can't she just _care_? Just for once be the one to smile first or initiate any sort of affection. It never really bothered me when we were younger because she was just as affectionate as I was when we were little, and then we were teens and wanted nothing to do with each other, but it's not like that now. I'm not so desperate to be different from her that I can't stand to be around her. In fact lately I've wanted her around _more_. It's tiring having to explain yourself to everyone. Being _too_ different from them, almost. Sara and I are different enough, but nowhere near as much as with everyone else. Sara and I can connect on a fundamental level that no one else can touch. I don't have to explain my thought processes or motives or reasoning to her. She understands the memories I reference because she was _there_.

As I think about Sara, I can feel my anger subsiding. It's not her fault I did something stupid. My stubborn mind still holds her accountable for my being lonely, though. I thought back to the fight we had before our show night before last, and the shock I'd felt when she was so quick to get over it and, even more surprisingly, had hugged me after we'd resolved things. Before that, I couldn't think about the last time she'd shown any sort of affection for me, or me for her, and the warmth and comfort I felt holding her made me instantly wonder why. Why stay away from someone who can make me feel so completely comfortable and understood and accepted? I smile to myself, thinking about my efforts later that day to show more affection, to see if Sara felt as comforted by it as I did.

I can feel my heartbeat and breathing start to slow, so I get up from my spot on the ground and look through the toiletry bags on the counter for my toothbrush. When I finally find it and pull it out, it snags on the handle of the bag, dragging the whole mess of bags off the edge of the counter. I'm scrambling around, trying to replace stray toiletries in their respective bags when I spot Sara's lipstick that I've just placed back in her bag. For some reason it catches my eye and I take it back out, looking it over before my heart stops dead. My breathing quickens and my hands start to shake, images of the mysterious lipstick smeared over my face flashing before my eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Sara POV

It's been almost a week since I lay in my bunk, eyes closed but wide awake, listening to Tegan stumble out of her bunk, fall to the floor, and crawl to the bathroom. Since I stared, eyes now wide open and burning, whether from not blinking or from the tears on the verge of spilling I didn't know, hearing the shuffling noises of Tegan's drunken movements, the thud as she spilled our toiletries to the floor and, worst of all, the panicked gasps, barely holding back sobs, that follow. At this point I couldn't just lie there anymore, listening to Tegan fall apart as she presumably pieced together the events of the previous night. Wiping away freshly fallen tears, I silently slipped out of my bunk, heading for the bathroom. I hesitated outside the door, listening to Tegan's sniffling before opening the door to find Tegan sitting back to the wall, curled up in a ball with her arms around her knees. I sat with by back to the wall opposite, eyes glued to her for any sign of communication.

"Tee…" I expected her to be surprised and confused like me, but this was way more than just confusion. She didn't respond, but the sniffling stopped and she sat stiffly, head between her knees. "Tegan what's going on?" Still no response. At this point I had scooted closer to her, knees bent and on either side of her, arms reaching out to wrap around her. We used to sit like this when we were little, me enveloping Tegan with my body, providing comfort and safety and warmth. But that didn't happen this time. Her body tightened when I slid closer and when I reached out to hold her she flinched and jerked away, on her feet and safe in the opposite corner in seconds, arms wrapped around herself protectively. I could see the pain in her face even though she tried to hide it, eyes cast down to the floor. I sat, shocked, where she had left me, feeling emptier than any fight had ever left me, tears threatening to spill again. I tried to say her name, to ask what was wrong; to fix whatever was hurting her so much, but all that came out was a whimper. Hearing the pain and desperation in my voice surprised and scared me, and I struggled to steady the ragged breaths threatening to start an asthma attack. This was going all wrong. How did I end up being the one trembling and crying on the floor, _Tegan_ watching as _I_ fell apart? _She_ kissed _me_! I'm not the one who started this whole mess! And yet here I was, feeling like somehow this was my fault, like I must have done something wrong. I jumped when I heard Tegan's voice and chanced a peek up at her face, but she still looked away, words trembling.

"I miss Lindsey. I need _Lindsey_." Why did these words hurt so much? I had always loved Tegan's relationship with Lindsey, loved Lindsey herself who felt so much like a part of the family, who _was_ a part of the family. And I guess that was it. If Lindsey was Tegan's family now, then who was I? Who _am_ I? I heard these words nearly a week ago, and yet still they echo through my mind, sending ripples of unease through my thoughts, redefining permanent. Tegan was my forever, my past, present and future. But I'm not hers.

We performed our last two shows, arranged our flights and said goodbye. She would be flying to LA to stay with Lindsey, I to Montreal to stay with myself. And so here I am, curled up under the covers of my bed, hiding out from the world, reliving moments of my past because I'm too scared to close my red-rimmed eyes and risk losing the memories too.


	7. Chapter 7

Tegan POV

It's a relief to be home. The second I walked in the door I could feel my shoulders drop and the tension ease as the sights and sounds and smells of home enveloped me. I dropped onto my bed immediately and passed out, embracing the warmth and silence and comfort of sleep so that, upon waking up, I felt refreshed and alive again.

All in all, it had been a good tour. A few hiccups along the road, but the shows had been good, and I'd enjoyed myself. Of course it's easy to be positive after the tour is over; I'm not cramped in a crowded tour bus with Sara among the crowd. Things with Sara had been tense to say the least, not even counting the explosive last couple of days. I can feel my body tense up again when I think about what happened between us. Why did I have to be so determined to change things, to make our relationship more affectionate again? Why could I not just _leave_ it? And now she's completely freaked out, understandably, and probably doesn't even feel comfortable being near me. Fuck. Well done Tegan, in one fell stroke you've managed to alienate your sister, act disloyally to your girlfriend and threaten your career. Simply _fantastic_. I don't know how long I laid like this in self-hatred and frustration before I heard the front door open and Lindsey's voice trail down the hall, warm and excited.

"Tegan? Are you here?" Despite the emotional turmoil causing the back of my head to ache, I feel the warmth and happiness that Lindsey's presence brings course through me and I can't help but smile when she pokes her head in the door and, seeing me there, squeals and leaps onto the bed. Taking in her smell, her warmth, the familiarity of my body, I feel the tension brought on by my thoughts of Sara melt away to be replaced with relief. Finally I can fully relax. It's one thing to sleep the physical exhaustion away, but to have Lindsey come and wipe away my worries and fears just with her presence brings a peace of mind no amount of sleep could provide. I groan and mumble into her shirt, not able to contain my joy at having her here, and she pulls back to hear what I'm saying, chuckling at the incomprehensible noises coming from me. "What's that baby?" When she pulls back she cups my chin and brings it up to make eye contact with me and I can feel my heart clench. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed Lindsey's constant presence while I was so busy on the tour but it all comes crashing in now and I fight back the lump in my throat in vain. _Shit_. It's all going to come out now. All of the stress and tension and frustration and fear from the tour, all of the crushed excitement and disappointment in myself. The debilitating self-doubt and ever-present guilt. And it does. It all comes pouring out in searing tears that rush to the surface, pouring down my face and reddening my eyes and nose in seconds. Feeling my shoulders start to shake uncontrollably as I desperately bury myself into her neck, Lindsey pulls back to try to see my face, to find out what's wrong.

"Tegan what happened?! Why are you crying? Are you okay?!" She pulls me in tight and engulfs me in her arms, rubbing my back lightly, hushing and comforting me. My throat feels like I've swallowed a baseball and I can't manage anything more than great, heaving sobs so I give up trying to talk and just give in to the tears.


	8. Chapter 8

Sara POV

I woke up the next morning in excruciating pain, more than a little dazed. Excessive amounts of alcohol mixed with the cramped, curled up position I had apparently fallen asleep in insured that upon waking, I was barraged with a throbbing ache at the back of my head and a cacophony of cracks and snaps as I stood up. I closed my eyes and waited for the rushing to stop and for my body to steady, and then made my way to the bathroom with small, shuffling steps.

In the bathroom I stand at the sink, absorbing the horrible sight reflected back at me. The pain in my head worsens as I think back to the night before – the past few days really. It's the same every tour. Things start off well; goals are set, the band is always happy to get together again and excited for the prospect of the tour to come, and I've got a few weeks or months of solid living-alone time to bolster my mood. But months into the touring, often in the last week or so, the stress and weight of every small problem or hiccup I encounter gradually rises so that, once I'm home alone and hit with the collective mass of anxiety and fear and stress without a show or other obligation bringing me to push it aside, I fall apart. First I sulk and mope, lying alone in the dark and pulling myself further down. Then I drink. And drink. And I wake up the next morning or afternoon, haul myself to the bathroom and stare.

It's not a good pattern of behavior, I know. And I get plenty of grief for it from my mother and Tegan and whomever I'm with at the time as well. Ideally I'd solve the mental and emotional problems that cause the build-up of anxiety and the spiraling into self-hatred and cynicism in the first place, but that's for another Sara to figure out. A more put-together, figured-out, future Sara. So instead I practice my one-day ritual of alternating self-deprecation and intoxication, getting rid of the explosive, destructive thoughts in one marvelously twisted blowout.

On the bright side, the next morning, apart from the bodily aches and increasingly nauseating hangovers, always brings sweet, long-awaited clarity and calm. I stare at the depressing sight of my hung-over, post-emotional-apocalyptic self under the bright, unforgiving lights of my bathroom and all but laugh at my melodrama. I reexamine my "problems", dismiss more than half of them, worry over my treatment of those around me on tour, and step into the shower to wash off the remnants of hotel and tour bus and binge drinking. And while for the most part, this morning is no different than any of those aforementioned mornings, my stomach refuses to unknot past a certain point and my breathing doesn't reach its normal levels. My worries sneak past the barriers of reassurance and calm I've just built. Of course, to be fair, I've never encountered a situation like what happened with Tegan. We generally leave for home after tours on fairly good terms – and I've _never_ felt like watching her go, there was a chance I'd not see her again. Rationally I know this isn't true, but I couldn't keep the thought from coming up in the airport and I'm trying to force it down now.

After drying off and getting dressed, I decide to get out of the apartment and bundle up to go to a favorite coffee shop a few minutes away. I can feel my mood lift when I step outside. It's nice to be outside on my own, enjoying the anonymity of the city and the feel of the fresh snow crunching under my boots. It's always strange to see my city again after being away on tour for so long. Everything goes on while you're away; the city doesn't know or care you've left, its inhabitants continue their lives and the buildings are rained on and snowed on and hailed on all the same.

The coffee shop is warm when I step in and I find myself smiling at the familiarity of the smell and the softness of the air and the low, persistent buzz of conversation. I order a coffee and find a seat in a back corner next to the window. I feel a warmth fall over me, finally back home with a warm drink in my hands and familiar surroundings around me, watching people pass by the shop and counting the ones that walk in. It's like my body can sense that I'm back home, that I'm doing the things that relax and calm me, but it feels fake. I'm supposed to be relieved that the tour's over, that I've finally got time to myself, but I just feel anxious to know what Tegan's doing and if she's okay and why the hell she said "I need _Lindsey_" like that meant she didn't want me, like she was saying she could have one but not the other, and that I was the one being given up. Why the hell would our relationship even have any relation at _all_ to her and Lindsey?

_Because Tegan kissed me, that's why_.


End file.
